Surge (12 page)

Now, this looks bad. I mean, John’s rolling around making some weird cooing noise, while I have dirty fingers shoved into my mouth; so how’s that look to an outsider? Like savages, exactly. So, you normal people out there would understand why I’m baffled when she doesn’t even batt a lash.

“Oh good, you’re up.” Olivia says in a bland voice. “Now, let’s get moving.”

With that, she retreats down the hallway. See, only a nutcase could treat this like its normal, everyday behavior. Either that, or she’s the freaking Terminator. Whatever the case, it gets me moving. Stepping over John’s prone body, and evading his fists along with promises of retribution, I collect my shit from the floor and head to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Brushing my teeth and scrubbing my face and hands with canteen water, I look semi presentable. Not that I’m trying or anything, since I didn’t even shave. I finish with a brush of my fingers through my dark brown hair. Who needs to try for bed head when you already have it? Only douchebags, that’s who.

Besides, bloodshot blue eyes and day old sweat covered bodies do not bode well in attracting the opposite sex. Thinking of, I may have to schedule a swim in the river before letting Vanessa get under me. No, not Vanessa. Victoria. I say her name like a mental mantra on repeat as I finish getting dressed and head downstairs.

On the table, there’s a plate with some type of egg on, is that bread? It is! Well, it
was
before I desecrated the yummy, still warm slices of toast in two swallows. I don’t even remember what the eggs tasted like, and it’s a shame really, because someone took the time to painstakingly make them over easy to perfection. I’ll let you have one guess as to whom the chef was, and I’ll even give you a clue: she doesn’t have a penis.

“How’d you make the bread?” I inquire of Olivia, who appeared as if I conjured her with a thought. I truly am curious for her answer, since our head chef Leonard hasn’t figured out how to make it without the old staple ingredients.

“Flour, condensed milk, dry yeast, water, salt and sugar,” Olivia answers like she’s reading off of a mental recipe, and maybe she is. Either way, she’s a fucking genius.

“And the eggs?”

“Nest out back,” she replies. That sours my stomach a little. “It was abandoned, I checked. Not that it mattered anyway.”

It obviously mattered to her, since she made the effort to check first, but I don’t mention it. I’m just glad that the stomach crisis was averted. Would have been a waste of amazing bread otherwise.

“It was delicious, so thanks.”

Olivia nods and that’s that. Well, at least I thanked her this time, so it’s a start. Maybe we can even become acquaintances who pass pleasantries someday? Yeah, you’re right. That’ll be likely when hell freezes over. Actually, that analogy no longer works on account of the wheezing bastards, so how about when pigs fly? Yup, I’ll stick with that one for now until I’m proven wrong.

Leaving the silent chick in the kitchen, who is currently making good on her earlier plan for a manicure at the next stop, I start readying my equipment. Holsters are buckled, boots triple knotted, and rain slicker in place; I then stuff my cargo pockets full of the expensive cutlery in the kitchen.

It’s some high quality shit that’s made to last. Instead of being attached to the cheap plastic like most other sets have to keep you buying more of their same shitty product, these ones are a single solid piece of sharp metal for a blade and widens to form a handle. My guess is that they’re Japanese made due to the even weight distribution designed with precision cutting in mind. I don’t think that the manufacturer included a warranty guaranteeing their ability to take out a wheezer, and that’s a damn shame, because these babies are ideal for throwing.

I’m raiding cabinets to see if there’s anything else we can use when John walks in with arms full of goodies. It looks like he raided the medicine cabinets in the bathrooms, since there are bottles of pills, band-aids, gauze and rubbing alcohol in the mix. Plopping the stack on the counter, he makes his way over and sinks a cheap shot in my gut while my hands are full. Cans of food are immediately dropped to clutch my poor abused stomach that’s threatening to upchuck breakfast.

“Cheating bastard,” I gasp out.

“Fuck you,” John spits at me. “That wasn’t anywhere near what you deserve, you low blowing prick.”

“You know better than to fuck with me in the morning.” Standing straight, I meet his gaze with murder in my eyes. “That goes double when you get between me and my coffee, especially Dunkin’s.”

“Touché,” is the muttered response.

“Are you boys done, or do you need to have a time out?” Turning to face Olivia’s dry tone, she continues. “Because this house has plenty of corners for you to kneel in, and vent your feelings, if you aren’t. On the down side, that would be a waste of daylight, so maybe you should just kiss and make up already, that way we can move on?”

“We’re good,” I answer and John nods his agreement.

“Splendid, I so wasn’t looking forward to bending either of you two giants over my knee.”

Leaving us with that visual, Olivia heads toward the door. When she’s out of range, John mutters his smart assed reply of, “Too bad. ‘Cause I’m more than willing to be punished if she’s the one dishing it out.” My sentiments exactly, but I don’t say it out loud. And that’s a good thing, since Olivia’s reply echoes from the foyer.

“I heard that, you depraved bastard.”

“Yeah, John,” I say with a smirk as I give him a shove. “Watch your filthy mouth, you pervert.”

“Puh-lease, you friggin coward,” John retorts with a shove of his own. “I’m just man enough to say what we were both thinking.”

Flipping his know-it-all ass the bird, I leave him laughing and go meet Olivia. She’s standing in front of the un-barricaded door with her helmet on, and jacket miraculously zipped up tight to her chin. With a signal to wait, she slips out the door and zips her way down the stairs. Scurrying like a squirrel, she crouches low to the ground and pops her head out sporadically like a groundhog to check out her surroundings. Seems a little extreme to me, but to each his own. Shrugging at John, I follow her example. Making my 6’2” frame as small as possible, which is nothing to her small stature, I creep over slowly to join her by the gate.

“See anything?” A shake of her helmeted is the answer to my question.

“Then what’re we waiting for?” John whispers from my other side.

“Nothing,” Olivia replies. “Just making sure it’s clear to move.”

After another thorough search of the area, to the extent of paranoia, she finally undoes the combo for the bike lock. Pausing to stuff it back inside her bag, Olivia pulls out her huge ass machete and signals for me to take point. I move quick, leaving John as the buffer between me and her eighteen inch blade.

No way in hell am I trusting her not to change her mind and hack off my head. John must follow my direction of thoughts, because he speeds up his pace to be even with my strides and lengthen the distance from Olivia’s reach. We’re basically full out sprinting by the time we hear the machete toting Rambina call out.

“What the fuck?” Speaks the devil herself. “Are you trying to lose me? Because I don’t need this shit.” Turning back to reject her claim, we’re just in time to see Olivia stop in the shadows on the corner, preparing to turn right. Retracing a few steps back to meet her before she books it, and leaves us behind, I reply.

“We’re just trying to get back faster.” Semi-true, yes, but also a crock full of bull.

“Well, you two fucks have me by a foot,” Olivia begins as she spins to the right and brings her machete down a wheezer, that came out of fucking nowhere, lunging for my face. “Not to mention, you need me a hell of a lot more than I need you.” With that, she stomps on the rotten mush that was a head, rips her machete out and shakes some of the black goo off with a flick of her wrist.

“Make that, don’t need you at all,” Olivia revises. “So, if you boys would like to play nice, remind your twelve year old brains that I don’t have cooties, and
slow
the
fuck
down!” Turning her visor covered face from me to John and back. “You’re loud and if you’re a mile ahead of me, I won’t reach your pathetic asses in time.”

“You’re right,” I say like a chastised school boy. “But you have to admit, you are pretty intimidating.” Cocking her helmet to the side, the animal like trait sufficiently creeps me right the fuck out, before I hear her muffled response.

“Really?” John and I nod our heads in complete affirmation. “Good. Now move.”

Shoving John to the left and sweeping my legs out from under me, Olivia thrusts her machete straight out and spears another wheezer in the stomach. Ducking down, she then flips the wheezer over her back. Before I manage to pick my ass up from the ground to finish off the scrambling bitch on the end of the machete, Olivia pulls an arrow from her back and jams it into the wheezer woman’s red tinged eye. Greyish ooze trickles from the wound and the scrambling ceases immediately.

Finally standing up, with my hunting knife in hand, I scan the area for any more fucks deciding that my ticket’s up. John has his crossbow locked and loaded, ready for any more surprises that try to pop out of the woodwork. Finding nothing, I rescan just to make sure, listening intently for any noise that doesn’t belong to nature. Still not trusting myself due to the blatant evidence of several fuckups in the past twenty-four hours, I abandon pride and look to Olivia.

“It’s clear,” she confirms. “For now at least.” I nod my thanks. “You can go quickly, just don’t sprint like a freakin’ cheetah chasing a gazelle, it attracts too much attention.”

Pointing forward, she signals for us to move. I make it a few feet before she calls out to stop. I’m spinning with my knife ready to carve any mother fucker with the balls to come at me for the third time in the last ten minutes, when I notice the crossbow Olivia’s holding out in offering.

“You don’t have any ammo, and you need it more than I do.” Seeing me hesitate to claim it, I swear she rolls her eyes behind the face mask when she shoves it in my direction, even if I can’t see it. “Just take the fucking thing before I save the wheezers the trouble, and shoot you myself.”

John stifles a laugh as I tuck my hunting knife away to accept the weapon along with a dozen arrows. My fingers barely grip the handle to the bow and quiver of arrows before she drops her end and takes four huge steps back. Confused as hell, but not willing to sit here waiting for the next blindsiding prick, I lead the way.

We go two miles out of the remaining four with only attracting two wheezers from the dozens that we see. John snipes one and I take out the other straggler with our bows. Olivia takes it upon herself to collect the arrows from the bodies before returning them to our quivers, while we’re still moving. Keeping a steady pace, we reach our town limit within an hour. Another twenty minutes and we’re less than four blocks away from the condo-plex. One more street over, and we’ll have a clear view straight at our building. That’s when I see the clustered bodies crowding our gate.

“Fuck,” John curses softly.

“I take it that’s your place,” Olivia remarks and we nod. “Just peachy.” Pulling her hunting knife out to hold in her left hand, and the machete for her right; Olivia steps forward. “Wait here, I’ll be back.”

“Cool it Terminator,” I order while reaching out to grab her arm and prevent a suicide mission. Her knife tip digs into my throat before I make contact with her.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” Putting my hands up, I follow John’s example, and back up several steps.

“I was just going to say that we have a back entrance we can use,” I say in my best
‘climb off the ledge’
voice. “There’s no need to risk your life.” She huffs out a laugh behind her helmet.

“Who say’s I’m risking my life?” Without waiting for a response, she continues. “Are you confident that your barrier will hold off that many?” I hesitate, since that was the point we were making when we planned to move in the first place.

“That’s what I thought. So, here’s what we’re going to do.” Tucking her knife away, she unzips her high collared coat from her chin about a fraction of an inch, before reaching inside and coming out with her chained dog whistle. “You two are going to take one side of the street each. Shoot any mother fucker that doesn’t drop.” Not knowing exactly what she means, I go to interrupt when she holds up a hand. “Just trust me, alright?”

I don’t know why, maybe because she’s saved our asses multiple times, or maybe because she knows her shit, but I do. I trust her confidence, and that’s why I let her lift her visor, place the whistle in her mouth and walk into the fray like a beautiful avenging angel rocking leathers.

“Take the right,” I tell John and run to the left side of the street.

I get to my position twenty feet away from the crowd when I see the wheezers react. Several screech and cover their ears. The ones that are hunched over and dragging their hands, face plant when they move to protect themselves from the sound. The crazy bitch was right. Not only does it work, it’s fucking hysterical.

While the wheezers are dropping like flies, Olivia zooms in to hack off heads or split skulls to finish them off. Any that are still standing, John or I take out with our arrows. It’s an uncontested slaughter with her ping ponging through the pack to make sure they go down and stay down permanently, while we’re shooting away. Olivia has decimated her way through half the crowd when shots start firing off from the third floor window. Startled, Olivia drops the whistle from her mouth, and all hell breaks loose.

I watch in horror as Olivia freezes in mid swing of killing a standing wheezer covering its ears. Without the whistle to distract it, the huge fucker tackles her to the ground. I’m sprinting with my crossbow aimed directly at his head. A quick squeeze of the trigger ends the wheezer’s miserable life as I’m running toward the wrestling bodies. I quickly reach Olivia’s prone body still struggling with the weight of the giant.

Kicking the corpse aside, I grip Olivia’s collar and yank her up onto her feet. Seeing her now empty hands, I shove her defenseless self behind me and fire off my arrows. Six drop in as many seconds, when I see a knife go whizzing past my ear and take out a seventh. I should have known better than to accuse her of being defenseless, even mentally. Freaking psychic.